Ties That Bind
by jetsfanforlyfe
Summary: Cooper's nine the first time he meets Blaine, but he's twenty-three before he realizes that he doesn't know his brother at all. Written for the Anderson Brothers Mini!Bang 2013.


A/N: Written for the Anderson Brothers Mini!Bang 2013. This is fairly different from things I've written in the past, as it's very reflective, I think, but I really enjoyed writing this. Thank you to the ever lovely Sarah (cupcakesdefygravity23) for the beta and the support. I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Cooper is nine-and-three-quarters when his parents bring Blaine home, swaddled in a bright blue blanket and shielded against the chilly February air. He's old enough to know that Blaine wasn't exactly planned, old enough to know that neither of his parents quite knows how to deal with a newborn anymore.

Years later, in retrospect, Cooper will understand why their mother couldn't look at the baby, why it always fell to Cooper to help their father look after him. But for the first year of Blaine's life, Cooper all but resents him, grudgingly cleaning spit up from his sweatshirts and mushed peas from his hair. He's there to witness Blaine's first word, first steps, first everything; it's Cooper who sets the little Power Rangers backpack on Blaine's shoulders and sends him off to kindergarten, Cooper who's there to clean up the split knees from Blaine's first bike ride without training wheels.

He's always been aware of their age difference, all too familiar with the reaction Blaine engenders in the girls at the park when Cooper brings him along (_"Is he your brother? Cooper, he's precious!"_), but he's never really let it bother him. He's there for Blaine in ways neither of their parents ever are when they're growing up, there for Blaine in ways that Blaine can't really understand, not yet.

But they both grow up, more quickly than Cooper can grasp. Suddenly he's standing at his high school graduation, holding his eight year old brother on his shoulders as they pose for pictures, when it hits him.

He's leaving, heading to the west coast to try his luck living on his own, and he doesn't plan to come back.

He's leaving Ohio, leaving his parents and his childhood behind.

Leaving _Blaine_ behind.

Blaine's young, but he's intelligent, and he realizes as he helps Cooper fit rolled up t-shirts into a giant suitcase, that this is it.

"Cooper?"

"Yeah, B?" Cooper's head is stuck in his closet as he rummages through the rest of his socks and boxers, trying to pick out what he wants to take with him.

"You're leaving," Blaine says simply, his voice quiet, almost resigned. Cooper freezes, shoulders tensing, but he doesn't move, not yet. "You're not coming back, are you?"

Cooper sighs, backing out of his closet with an armful of t-shirts, dumping them on the floor next to the suitcase. He sits on his bed, pulling Blaine up next to him.

"I'm not three anymore, Coop. You don't have to pick me up," Blaine grumbles, folding his arms over his chest and chewing on his bottom lip. "I'm not a baby."

"You're not," Cooper agrees, smiling at his little brother. "You're not a baby, but you'll always be my baby brother," he teases, nudging Blaine with his shoulder.

"Are you really going for good?" Blaine asks after a long silence, eyes wide as he looks up at Cooper.

"People grow up, squirt. It's part of life, you know? Everyone grows up and sometimes they move away, or go to college, or do other things. It doesn't mean I don't love you, and it doesn't mean I'm forgetting, okay? It just-it means things are gonna be different, and probably a little weird, but I'll always be there for you, Blainey. Always."

It's a promise Cooper has a hard time keeping when he's swept up in the bustle of Los Angeles and the glittering promise of a life of stardom. He rents a room in a house with six other people of varying ages and professions, and waits tables during the night to make ends meet.

He's _happy_, in ways he never realized he could be in Ohio. If his little brother fades from his mind, it isn't Cooper's fault. Blaine has their parents, their cousins and aunts and uncles to keep him company, and he's surely making friends.

Or so Cooper tells himself when he has time to breathe, time to think, time to consider picking up the phone to give Blaine a call, to see how he's doing.

But a three hour time difference and late nights at the diner mean those phone calls slip away. Plane tickets back to Ohio are expensive, and suddenly Cooper's twenty-three, working two jobs and booking commercials in his spare time, waiting for his big break.

He hasn't spoken to Blaine in three and a half years, hasn't seen him in over five. It's not intentional, but it just _is_. Blaine, for his part, hasn't reached out either, except for a few phone calls around the time he started high school that Cooper missed while filming a commercial for Sensodyne.

They're not close, not like they were. There are secrets between them, years of missed opportunity and lost communication, and neither of them realizes just how far they've grown apart.

So when his phone rings in late October, Cooper's at work at the diner and misses the call, and the four that follow when his phone dies in his locker. He drags himself into his tiny apartment hours later and plugs the phone in to see it light up with eight missed phone calls and three voicemails, all from his parents.

"What-?" Cooper mutters, quickly jabbing the redial button and holding the phone to his ear, listening to it ring out. He's about to hang up, to try back later when his mother finally answers, her voice tight and quiet as she croaks that he needs to come home, as soon as he can.

_Blaine's in the hospital_.

The words play themselves over and over in his head, a tape stuck on some kind of sick repeat, as he throws clothes into a duffel and books a flight on his laptop, not bothering to check how much it is. He barely remembers his license as he stumbles out the door, hails a cab to LAX and boards a plane to Columbus less than two hours later.

_Blaine's in the hospital_, he repeats to himself as the plane takes off and he's unable to sleep, unable to do anything but focus on that phrase. He has no idea what's happened, if Blaine is sick or hurt or _anything_, and it scares him, how little he knows about what's happening to his brother. Cooper reads the SkyMall five times before giving up and closing his eyes, willing the time to pass more quickly and the plane to move faster.

His dad meets him at the airport and takes Cooper's bag without a word before leading him to the car, heading directly to the hospital.

"Is he back home in Westerville? Are we going to St. Ann's? Dad, the interstate's that way-"

"He was airlifted to Nationwide Children's from the scene," Jonathan finally says, and Cooper's world seems to spin off its axis.

"The scene? Dad-"

"Cooper, I don't-I don't know what to tell you-"

"What _happened _to him?" Cooper demands, unable to hide his frustration at his father's inability to be forthcoming. "Christ, Dad, you haven't even told me what _happened_."

Jonathan stares ahead of him at the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white, and Cooper hadn't thought he could be any more worried than he was.

"Dad-"

"He was attacked at a dance," Jonathan says quietly, letting the words sink in. "At a school dance."

They don't say anything else for the rest of the drive, Cooper too stunned and Jonathan trying to keep a lid on his emotions, focusing on driving. They reach the hospital in short order, Cooper launching himself from the car and into the lobby before Jonathan can even stop him, before he realizes he has no idea where they're heading.

Jonathan parks and catches up to Cooper, puts a hand on his elbow to stop him.

"Cooper-"

"Dad, where is he?"

"He's in ICU, upstairs. He just got out of surgery when you called us back, they got him settled a little while ago. He can't have too many visitors. There are rules-"

"Bullshit," Cooper says, startling his father. "I'm going up there. Where is he?"

"Cooper, your mother-"

"Has never cared about him before, and I'll be damned if she's going to sit with him now. Where is he?"

Jonathan takes Cooper to the ICU, speaks quietly with the nurses for a moment before returning to Cooper.

"Wash your hands before you go in to see him. He's had major surgery and they're worried about infection. Cooper-"

"Are you coming?" Cooper asks, scrubbing his hands purposefully at the small sink Jonathan had pointed out and drying them, turning to his father. "Or are you going to stay out here?"

"Tell your mother I'm going to check us into a hotel," Jonathan says quietly, and Cooper scoffs, turning on his heel away from his father towards the nurse's station. He speaks quietly with the woman at the desk, and she smiles kindly at him as she stands up, leading him to Blaine's room.

The ICU is small, glass-windowed rooms surrounding the nurse's station so that they can keep an eye on as many patients as possible. Blaine's in bed 8, the nurse explains quietly, checking with Cooper to make sure that he's washed his hands and is free from any respiratory symptoms, briefing him on what he'll see in Blaine's small room.

Cooper barely hears her as they draw to a stop outside the room and he looks in, sees Blaine in the bed, tiny and dwarfed by machines and equipment. Their mother is in a chair next to the bed, holding onto Blaine's hand (his free hand, the other is wrapped in a heavy cast, resting across Blaine's stomach), her head resting on the bed near Blaine's knee.

"Mr. Anderson?"

"Hmmm?" Cooper turns and realizes the nurse is still beside him, waiting patiently for him.

"You can go in to see him now if you'd like. There's another chair off to the side there if you want to sit with him. I'll be at the desk if you need anything, alright?"

"Thank you," Cooper whispers, and he takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and bracing himself, entering the room. The machines are quiet but rhythmic, the respirator behind the bed clicking every few seconds as it pushes air into Blaine's lungs. Cooper rests a hand on his mother's shoulder, trying to wake her gently before he takes up the other chair at Blaine's side.

"Jonathan?" she murmurs, stirring awake and tightening her grip on Blaine's hand. "Wha-Cooper?"

"Hey, Mama," Cooper whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I'm here."

"Oh, god, Cooper," Marielle whispers, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looks from Cooper to Blaine, back again. "_Cooper_."

"Mama, please-please don't cry," Cooper says, sitting across from her, Blaine motionless on the bed between them. "Mama, please. It's-he's gonna be okay, alright? Please don't cry."

"They hurt him so badly. He's so little, Cooper, he's always been so small for his age. How could they-I don't understand. I don't understand this."

Cooper doesn't understand either, still has no idea what's happened outside of the fact that Blaine was attacked at a dance and is currently fighting for his life.

The story comes out in bits over the following weeks, Marielle whispering to Cooper when Jonathan's out, whispering about the boy Blaine had asked to the dance, the pictures she'd taken before she'd dropped him off, the phone call she'd gotten from Jeremy's father, the terrifying ride to St. Ann's only to be told that Blaine was already airlifted to a bigger hospital.

It hits Cooper sometime in the third week, while Blaine's still unconscious but finally breathing on his own, how little he truly understands about what happened.

Blaine-his baby brother, the eight-year-old he left behind on his bed that day in July-is grown.

And Cooper doesn't know who he is, not anymore. He's missed five years of Blaine's life, five years of growing up and coming to terms with things that Cooper never even dreamed of at Blaine's age.

He vows to change that, to make a difference in their relationship.

He's holding Blaine's hand when he finally blinks awake five weeks after the attack, his eyes cloudy with lingering sleep and his brow furrowed in confusion. He holds onto Blaine's hand as the nurses come to check on him, taking vitals, asking questions, brushing Blaine's hair back with gentle touches when he becomes overwhelmed by the questions.

Cooper never lets go, not until they're alone again and Blaine flexes his fingers underneath Cooper's, turning his head slowly to look at his brother, wetting his lips before speaking.

"When did you get here?" Blaine asks, and his voice is hoarse from underuse, a grimace crossing his face as he stifles a cough when he tries to speak over his dry throat. Cooper leans forward with a small paper cup and a straw, helps Blaine drink a few small sips of water before he answers.

"I've been here for a month, B. Since it happened."

"The whole time?"

"The whole time," Cooper confirms, and Blaine smiles, a tiny smile that doesn't reach his eyes but chips away a bit of the icy fear that's seemed to have settled in Cooper's chest. "I couldn't leave your side."

"But why now, why-"

"Blaine, I know-God, I know I've missed a lot. Too much. I have no excuse, I don't-I just want to try. I want to-we used to be inseparable, squirt."

"Don't call me that," Blaine mumbles, but he's smiling, letting Cooper know that he appreciates the sentiment.

"Blaine, I want you to know-"

"I'm gay," Blaine says suddenly, closing his eyes as soon as he says it, as if bracing for the worst.

"I know."

"You know?"

"Mom told me the first week you were here, Blaine. I've known this whole time."

"And you don't-" Blaine trails off, biting his lip and looking away from Cooper, out the window of the small hospital room he's been in since he was downgraded from the ICU.

"Hey," Cooper says quietly, reaching out to grasp Blaine's chin, turning his head back. "I don't think any different of you, Blaine. I couldn't."

"Cooper-" There are tears in Blaine's eyes, and Cooper wonders (not for the first time) just how accepting their parents have been this whole time. They've been walking on eggshells around the subject since Blaine was moved from ICU and Jonathan returned to Westerville for work, avoiding any and all mention of "the incident" or its causes.

"Blaine, you're my baby brother. And there is nothing-_nothing-_in this world that will change that, you hear me? Nothing."

"I've missed you, Coop," Blaine replies, rubbing at his eyes, failing to clear the tears from them.

"I've missed you, too, squirt," Cooper returns, easing onto the bed next to Blaine, pulling him into a gentle hug, careful to mind the lingering injuries Blaine still sports from the attack. "Besides-I'm gonna need you to come out to LA as soon as you're better, you know. My game with the chicks just hasn't been the same since I left you here."

Blaine chokes out a watery laugh, pulling away from Cooper when the hug gets too painful, taking a tissue from the bedside table to wipe his face dry.

"Even when I was eight, I knew you had no game with the ladies Coop."

"Blaine, Blaine, Blaine. _Blainey_. You have so much to learn," Cooper jokes, his tone light and teasing. "Your big brother is a _master_ at the art of relationships. Just wait until you're out of here, and you're getting the full Cooper Anderson Crash Course in Dating."

"I look forward to it," and Blaine smiles, the first real smile Cooper's seen on him since before that day in July, so many years before.

_Fin._


End file.
